


Runaway

by biscuits_and_whiskey



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Takin' Over the Asylum
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Bipolar Disorder, Christmas, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Shipping in Second Chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-19 07:55:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22007659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biscuits_and_whiskey/pseuds/biscuits_and_whiskey
Summary: Twenty years ago, Aziraphale finds a runaway with a familiar face on his doorstep
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 67





	1. Christmas Time, 1992

A.Z. Fell & Co. Bookshop’s reputation had long spread through the inhabitants of SoHo. One would think that’d drive away any potential customers and browsers, given that the eccentric shop owner never budged the hours, not even to accommodate the holiday season.  
  
Yet, as the night wore on, Aziraphale still found himself ushering out stragglers and busy customers from his shop. He urged stressed out shoppers out the door, sometimes with a cup of hot cocoa as a bribe. He may have even used a miracle or two for the more stubborn customers, who’d suddenly realize they’d forgotten to pick up their uncle at the airport (whose plane to Tahiti had mysteriously been diverted to Heathrow) or that they’d left a roast in the oven (despite being a broke college student with little more than a microwave to their name).  
Once the last customer was out, Aziraphale shut the door and leaned against it with a sigh.  
  
Finally, the shop was quiet, and he was alone.  
He allowed himself a moment to relax before he stood up, adjusted his waistcoat, and went about the next order of business: prepping for the night’s indulgence in a good book, cocoa, and a roaring fire.  
The cocoa was made in short fashion, topped generously with whipped cream and festive sprinkles, and the fireplace soon roared energetically (A.Z. Fell & Co’s fireplace was a mysterious bloke that only existed when needed and, most importantly, at Christmas).   
He’d settled himself into his armchair with a first edition copy of a book of Assyrian prophecies when his gaze flitted to the front door.

He thought he’d heard a thump outside.  
  
He tilted his reading glasses down and eyed the glass warily.  
“Hello? Is someone there?” He called cautiously.  
Aziraphale paused, and waited, to see if maybe there would be an answer.  
None came.  
His fired nerves settled, and he was about to return to his book when he looked back at the door.

The sign on the window was still flipped to “OPEN”.

“Oh bother.” Aziraphale tutted as he set his book and reading glasses aside.

He drew his impossibly comfy blanket tight around him as he strode to the door. He gingerly flipped the sign around to “CLOSED” as he avoided the frost-tinted glass.  
He took a moment to view the sight outside his shop.  
All the restaurants and shops were handsomely decorated with glittering twinkle lights. Wreathes paired with red velvet bows hung from lampposts. The snow, crisp and glittering, was dotted with the footsteps of travelers long gone. They’d soon be covered by the snow that fell freshly and thickly.  
Aziraphale smiled and drew the blanket closer.  
It was a beautiful night, and he wondered how Crowley was dealing, snake nature and all.  
“He must hate this.” He chuckled to himself. “He’ll come in freezing cold and complaining tomorrow, mark my words.”  
He was about to turn and walk back to his comfy chair when he caught a dark shape at the lowest corner of the door’s window.  
  
He stopped and peered through it, nose near pressed against the glass. He strained to search for the dark shape.

There was one, he hadn’t been seeing things. Something dark and bulky was slumped into the doorway of his shop entrance.

The worry line appeared between Aziraphale’s brow as he, carefully, unlocked the door and creaked it open.  
He poked his head out and looked down at the bundle.  
He soon realized that it was a blanket, flannel with a green tartan pattern. It was damp and crusted with frost and melting snow.  
Said blanket was covering something, and whatever it was wasn’t moving much.  
Aziraphale swallowed thickly. Oh, how he hoped it wasn’t what he thought it might be.  
He reached down and, gently, moved a small part of the blanket away.

A head of mousy brown hair was what he discovered.  
“Oh dear.” He said in a hushed voice. He was already, silently, praying that the stranger was alive.  
He pulled away more blanket and nearly fell backwards.  
It was uncanny, too uncanny.  
The boy was young, very young and his face was dotted with paint-splatter freckles, but otherwise he looked remarkably like a demon Aziraphale may or may not know (but was certainly not his friend, nope). He was curled up against the shop’s entrance, his hands clenched around fistfuls of the blanket. Dressed in an oversized jumper and torn jeans, he was certainly not dressed for the weather.  
“ _A runaway_.” Aziraphale concluded sadly as he hovered a hand close to the young man’s mouth.  
Miraculously, he could feel the puffs of warmth exhaled from the boy.  
Aziraphale sighed in relief and stirred himself into action.  
He threw his own blanket off inside and stepped out into the cold air. Ever so carefully, he maneuvered the unconscious young man into his arms. The once thought damp blanket was confirmed to be soaked from the snow, and soon Aziraphale’s coat sleeves grew damp as well.  
He soon discovered, to his slight inconvenience, and much like his aforementioned demon not-friend, the boy was all limbs and was slightly troublesome to carry inside. A minor miracle, however, allowed Aziraphale to bring him into the shop with nary a bump or a bruise.

With the door shut, Aziraphale first set the boy down and worked to coax the blanket from his grip. The task was difficult, compounded by the damp material sticking to the boy’s also damp clothes, as well as the near-death grip he held.  
“Come now, I have a nice, dry blanket for you. You can have your blanket back once it’s dried.” Aziraphale reasoned.  
  
The boy stirred and, seeming to listen, let the blanket go.  
  
Aziraphale immediately replaced it with his dry blanket.  
He set the boy on the couch and hung the old blanket to dry. He left only to bring a bowl of lukewarm water and a towel to set on the coffee table. He lifted the blanket and started to work on removing the boy’s drenched boots.  
  
At this, the boy finally woke, and his damp hair fell into his eyes.  
“Ach, Ma, not my boots. Need them, s’what all the pop stars wear…” He mumbled near unintelligibly.  
  
Aziraphale tutted and chuckled.  
“I’m afraid I’m not your mother, but I do need to remove your boots, if that would be alright with you.” He said as he untied the laces.  
  
“Why d’you need them?” The boy slurred.  
  
“To check for frostbite.”  
  
“Ah, I don’t have that. ‘m fine. Little snow’s not gonna stop me.” Said the boy as he raised to stand.  
  
“Now, none of that.” Aziraphale chastised gently as he led the boy back down. “We’re in the middle of a serious winter storm, and I cannot in good conscience let you risk your life out there.”  
  
“Said ‘m fine. Tip-top condition, picture of health. Never better. But I need my boots.” Replied the boy as he wrestled his way upright.  
  
Aziraphale bit his lip.  
“Wouldn’t you prefer your boots nice and toasty dry? Wouldn’t take but an hour or so. It must be horribly uncomfortable wearing soaked shoes.” He said thoughtfully as he, gently, took the boy’s shoulders and led him back to the sofa.  
  
The boy sat, looked down and swayed his boots. They squished in response.  
  
“You can be on your way right after they’re dry, I won’t stop you. I promise.” Said Aziraphale.  
  
The boy looked reluctant. He chewed his lip and eyed the door, as well as the flurry of snow raining down.  
  
“I have hot cocoa made up in the kitchen.” Aziraphale mentioned, his voice singsong.

That caught the teen’s attention. He perked up, finally fully awake, and cocked a toothy grin.  
“Could stay for a little bit, if you’re offering.” He said.  
  
“Not just offering, I insist. Now, your boots, please?” Aziraphale said as he bent down.  
  
The boy’s grin faltered as he lifted his boot away just enough.  
“Now, hang on. I just need to know yer intentions, cause my mum and dad rattled enough about strangers when I was a wee one. They went on and on about dangerous blokes who look friendly then leave you a corpse out in the bogs, and while they never mentioned boots, ya can’t be too careful these days with the news and all. So, if yer planning to do me in, I’d like to ask that you tell me up front and I promise to only slightly deck ya and won’t tell the cops until a day or two later.” He rambled.  
  
“Dear boy, I would never! You have my promise, I want nothing but to ensure you don’t freeze to death.” Aziraphale said as his head spun from the deluge of words.  
  
“Aye, so you say, but how can I believe you? How do I know you’re not buttering me up so you can gut me in my sleep?”  
  
“Dear me, so gruesome.” Aziraphale mumbled as he thought through how he’d planned to prove his good intentions.  
Sadly, with the stressful day of badgering customers, the late night, and the shock of discovering his new guest, Aziraphale’s mind was a fog.  
So, he braced himself and, with a serious look, addressed the teen.  
“I am an angel, one of God’s own. If you can’t trust me, then really who can you trust?” He said.  
  
The boy blinked and his eyes widened. He lifted his foot further away.  
“Christ, yer daft, aren’t ya? A real loony, that’s what you are.” He said in a nervous whisper.  
  
“Dear boy, I am not a…what did you say, a ‘loony’!” Aziraphale said disapprovingly. “I truly am an angel.”  
  
“Then prove it. Do a miracle. Turn some water into wine or something.”  
  
“Oh, come now, let’s be a bit more creative. Besides, that wasn’t an angel’s doing in the first place. Poor Jesus made do, what with getting unexpected guests all the time.” Aziraphale explained simply.  
  
The boy still looked petrified.  
“Mad, that’s what you are, a complete loon. I should get out of here before you gut me.”  
  
“Before you’ve had your cocoa?” asked Aziraphale as he, casually, snapped his fingers. The cup of cocoa, steaming hot, appeared in his hand.

The boy looked about to jump out of his skin. He stared in shock at the angel’s hand, now cupped around a steaming cup of hot cocoa. He reached out a hand, almost like he expected the cup to bite him.  
He poked the cup and, yup, it was a real cup. And the sweet aroma confirmed that the liquid was cocoa, nice cocoa at that.

“Don’t let it get cold.” Said Aziraphale as he held the cup out.  
  
The boy took the cup hesitantly. He gave it a sniff and the tiniest of sips.  
  
“From Switzerland. I met the loveliest fellow who had quite the talent for making chocolate. I might have prodded him towards perfecting his craft; now he’s quite the successful businessman, and he sends me the most scrumptious of cocoa.” Aziraphale elaborated.  
  
The boy nodded, and his eyes twinkled at the sweet and luxurious taste.  
  
“Do you take your cocoa with anything?”  
  
“I like whipped cream.” Said the boy.  
  
Aziraphale smiled and, with a snap of his fingers, a small mountain of whipped cream formed atop the cocoa. Red and green sprinkles popped through like daisies.  
  
The boy watched, spellbound.  
“You are an angel.” He gasped.  
  
“You could say I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”  
  
The boy’s spell was broken as a wide grin crossed his face.  
“That’s bloody fantastic! A real angel!” He laughed. “Are there more of ya? Of course, there must be more. Are all the stories real and there’s a whole host, and archangels and the lot? Oh, this is amazing! I’d heard all the stories at church but thought it was a bit daft, no offense. Just couldn’t wrap my head around sunny folks lounging on clouds with dove wings and all that. You don’t play harps for real, do you? Speaking of wings, where are yours? If I had them, I’d never put them away, just fly around and do spins and tricks and flips and – “

The boy’s endless ramble ceased as he finally noticed the rather stunned expression on his host.  
A look of shame suddenly crossed the teen’s face. His smile faded to a one small and embarrassed.  
“I did it again, didn’t I? Blather on?” He asked quietly, voice tiny.  
  
Aziraphale blinked and was brought back to earth.  
“Oh, dear boy, it’s quite alright – “  
  
“Nah, I know it’s…a lot. My folks, I know, they don’t like it. Irritates them.” He shrugged. “Can’t help it, I guess. Mind and mouth’s like a waterfall, sometimes everything just rushes at once and…well, you saw. Just happens.”  
  
“It was a bit, I suppose, but it’s not blather.” Aziraphale assured him.  
  
“No need to be polite, I know I’m an annoyance.” The boy smirked.  
  
“Dear me, no! Who said that?” Aziraphale sputtered.  
  
“My folks. My teachers. Most people, really. ‘cept my mates.” He said matter-of-factly.

Aziraphale’s gaze darkened, his fury faded. He looked sadly at the boy.  
“Well, they’re wrong. I don’t believe you’re an annoyance, and those…bad people saying that are quite incorrect.”  
  
The boy snorted.  
“You saying my folks are bad people?”  
  
Aziraphale turned pink.  
“O-Oh! Dear me, I apologize, I didn’t mean that. I meant those other people, the other people saying you’re…oh dear.”  
  
“It’s alright. I know what you meant.” The boy grinned.  
  
Aziraphale cleared his throat, but the pink remained.  
“Quite right.” He mumbled into his cocoa.

After a moment to collect himself, Aziraphale set down his cocoa and returned to his work of removing the boy’s boots. The boy, now assured that Aziraphale wasn’t a crazed serial killer, sat back and drummed his fingers against the cushions and bobbed his free leg.  
Aziraphale looked over his foot and frowned. While there weren’t any serious signs of frostbite, the skin was a little red and veered too close to purple for his comfort. He set aside the boot and sock, soaked the rag in the water and gently worked to warm the skin.  
“I do apologize, but I realized I never asked for your name.” He said.  
  
“Campbell Bain, might say I’m the bane of your existence.” Grinned Campbell with a laugh.  
  
Aziraphale chuckled and shook his head.  
“That’s clever, but not nice to say about yourself.”  
  
“Eh, doesn’t bother me. My mates find it hilarious.” He said as he slurped more hot cocoa. “And yours?”  
  
“Aziraphale. Not as catchy I suppose.”  
  
“Ah-zee-ra-phail.” Campbell enunciated before he nodded. “Sounds right angelic though. Can’t see an Aziraphale working insurance, or as a road sweeper like my dad.”  
  
“Just see one as owning a bookshop?” asked Aziraphale with a smirk.  
  
“Have to admit, it works.”  
  
“Never thought about it, I suppose.” Said Aziraphale as he sipped his cocoa.

Aziraphale took Campbell’s boots and socks and hung them by the fire. He took the poker and prodded the logs, which crumbled and crackled in response.  
“I imagine the rest of your clothes are properly soaked too?” asked Aziraphale.  
  
Campbell looked down and pulled at his shirt collar. He scrunched his nose at the damp smell and moistness.  
  
“I might have some spare clothes left in the lost and found.” Noted the angel.  
  
“What? Blokes just leave their trousers on the floor?” smirked Campbell.  
  
“Well, this is Soho. We have quite a few characters.” Chuckled Aziraphale as he dug through a crate. “I suppose I count as one.”  
He pulled out a pair of blue jeans and fresh socks and tossed them back to Campbell, who caught them and looked them over.  
  
“Exactly my size, what’re the odds?” noted Campbell.  
He paused.  
“Oh, right, angel.” He mumbled sheepishly.  
  
“Quite alright.” Aziraphale smiled. “Here, it’s a tad big, but it looks warm.”  
He threw back an orange, yellow, and purple blocked jumper and a long-sleeve, green shirt.   
  
Campbell caught them and admired them with a toothy grin.  
“Ah, these are wicked!” He crowed.  
  
“Bathroom’s down the hall, that way.”

Campbell hopped up, seemingly filled with an energy that didn’t exist moments ago and vanished down the hall. He would find a bathroom, warmly lit and populated by expensive, antiquated fixtures.  
(Contrary to what one might assume, the bookshop bathroom did not only exist during the shop’s operating hours. While angels may not require facilities, Aziraphale had discovered the joys of warm bubble baths some time ago and thus owned a bathtub that seemed to exist on the same level as the fireplace. The other fixtures didn’t usually exist for when he was alone, but with Campbell present, the bathroom was fully installed.)

A few minutes later Campbell popped out of the bathroom and did a small spin.  
“Ta-da! What’cha think? Like N’Sync, am I right?” He grinned.  
  
“Indeed.” Aziraphale answered, while he made a note to ask Crowley about an “In Sync”.  
  
Campbell eyed the couch with a playful smirk. He backed up and launched himself towards it. His back smacked against the cushions and distressed a few pillows. He laughed heartily and laid against the cushions; his hair fluffed onto his face.  
Aziraphale watched Campbell’s acrobatics with a warm smile. He didn’t even care for his poor pillows at the moment; it was simply nice to see the youth, near frozen to death just an hour earlier, seemingly filled with energy.

He supposed he’d shown off a strange, endless energy since they first started conversing, though it’d now fully emerged. Admittedly, it’d been some time since Aziraphale experienced the unpleasant hints of frostbite and hypothermia (he’d rather not think about that particular time and discorporation), but he felt the faintest concern when he eyed Campbell’s still red and purpled feet.

He thought about how Campbell had seemingly brushed off all concerns regarding his health earlier, almost blind to how close he came to freezing to death, or even the state of his feet.

It was concerning, no doubt, but Aziraphale tried not to dwell. Campbell was safe someplace warm, and he could keep an eye on him if things turned for the worst.  
“I must ask, Campbell, you don’t sound like you’re from around here. Forgive me if I’m incorrect, but your accent…it’s Scottish?” He asked.  
  
Campbell’s gaze flipped to Aziraphale and he sat himself upright.  
“Aye, Glasgow to be exact. Born and raised, pure Scotsman yer looking at.” He said as he drank more cocoa.  
  
“I see. Did you and your family move to London?”  
  
Campbell’s smile faltered slightly as he shook his head.  
“Nah, still in Glasgow.”  
  
“That’s quite some way from here.” Noted Aziraphale.  
  
The angel didn’t miss how the youth grew suddenly quiet.  
“Aye, suppose it is.” He answered.  
  
“I’m guessing you took a train then? I surely hope you didn’t hitchhike.”  
  
Campbell grimaced as he sat back. His fingers drummed against the mug.  
“I, uh…took the train. In a way. Didn’t hitchhike, no.” He fumbled.  
  
“You snuck aboard?” asked Aziraphale, voice free of judgement.  
  
Campbell winced then, slowly, nodded.  
“Guess I can’t lie to an angel. S’bad as lying to God himself, yeah?” He said.  
  
“Not good to lie to anyone, if you can help it.” Said Aziraphale grimly. The fact of how many times he’d lied through history, even to the almighty herself, should remain unsaid.  
  
“Don’t really have the money for a train ticket.” Admitted Campbell. “But had to leave.”  
  
Aziraphale set down his mug gently and sat forward. His hands folded together, and the gaze in his eyes near resembled a counselor.  
“Campbell, why did you run?” He asked softly.

Campbell swallowed thickly and looked uneasy. He brought his cocoa to his lips and cupped it close, like it was keeping him anchored to this room and stopped him from dropping everything and running back out into the blizzard.  
“Told my folks I wanted to be a pop star. Feel it’s what I’d be good at, what I want to do.”  
He gave a sad laugh.  
“Dad was disappointed, you should’a seen the look on his face. I know what he wants, wants me to be a road sweeper like him, but I cannae even fancy the concept! I can’t do something like that, but my mum and dad…well, we weren’t understanding each other, so to speak.”  
He ran a hand through his hair.  
“See, sometimes, I get these…rushes. Sometimes comes after a long time of feeling shite, cannae get out of bed or shower. My mum hates those times. Missed a lot of school. But when I get the rushes, I feel…inspired.”  
  
“And did this running away idea come from one of those rushes?” asked Aziraphale.  
  
Campbell looked at him meekly.  
“I had a plan.” He justified. “Thought I’d get my footing in music better out of Glasgow. Lots of stars come from London, so figured if I came out here, I’d make it big. Folks won’t move, so I’ll just move.”  
  
“With no clothes? No bags? Nothing?” questioned Aziraphale.  
  
“The plan was sort of done last minute.” Admitted Campbell. “Just knew I had to go and go now. Didn’t pack, figured…well, I thought I’d manage.”  
  
“Instead you nearly froze to death.” Noted Aziraphale, who immediately regretted his harshness.  
  
“Ah, but I didn’t.” said Campbell with a smirk.  
Said smirk faded at Aziraphale’s concerned look.  
“Mean,” Campbell corrected. “s’not something you think could happen. During the rush. Just feel like…world’s your oyster. Anything possible that doesn’t include you dying. I don’t know…does it make sense?”  
  
“I think I understand.” Said Aziraphale.

Aziraphale’s knowledge of psychology was limited. While it was far better than most humans, given that the study of the human psyche was new relative to their 6,000 years of existence, he still wasn’t trained or spent time studying the nuances and diagnoses of different disorders and illnesses.  
Despite this, what Campbell was mentioning with “rushes”, the feelings of near invincibility, contrasted against the periods where even dragging himself out of bed was impossible; he’d heard of this before.  
Long ago, Aziraphale grimly knew that Campbell would’ve been considered possessed (apparently a trend that Crowley despised. Aziraphale knew, he’d asked about whether demonic possession was at play as soon as he’d heard.) Luckily, humans had progressed since then.

Despite his hazardous guess, Aziraphale refused to mention it. He wasn’t a doctor or psychologist, but he could at least assure the boy that he wasn’t alone with his thinking.  
  
Campbell had gone quiet in the meantime. His eyes fell upon his cocoa.  
“Not just that though.” He said softly. “Why I ran, I mean. I heard my folks talking.”  
  
“Oh? About?” asked Aziraphale.  
  
Campbell looked uncomfortable and ashamed. He shuffled in his seat.  
“’Bout sending me away, to a hospital. Said they wanted to ‘cure the loony’ out of me.” He said.  
  
A bout of rage flared in Aziraphale, but he stifled it. Getting angry would do nothing.  
“I see.” He said simply. “How do you feel about that?”  
  
Campbell shrugged.  
“Guess I can’t blame them. When I’m not in a rush, I don’t get much done. Maybe they’re right and I’m just a broken loony. Need to get tossed in the bin like the others.” He said morosely.

Ah, there was the flip. Humans may have progressed quite a while in their understanding of the mind, but their prejudices were still strong. Aziraphale didn’t hold this against Campbell; he knew he was parroting what he’d heard from his peers. But it didn’t mean he’d say nothing either.

“My boy, you are by no means ‘broken’.” Said Aziraphale firmly, as his heavenly aura flared. “And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with being, what is it, a ‘loony’.”  
He tugged his waistcoat and frowned in discontent.  
“Abhorrent enough that humans shame and label one another, really now, it helps absolutely no one.” He grumbled.  
  
“What? Yer saying I should be all smiles while I get chucked in a ward. Right, cute.” Campbell frowned.  
  
“I would never say such a thing.” Aziraphale responded firmly.  
  
Campbell shrunk in slightly.  
  
Aziraphale’s face relaxed and he sighed.  
“I-I mean, Campbell, I understand your trepidation.” He said. “But there is no shame in receiving help. It doesn’t mean you’re broken, by no means are you. But, well – “  
Aziraphale leaned forward with a solemn look.  
“Campbell, how are you feeling about these…’rushes’?”  
  
Campbell bit his lip and averted his gaze.  
  
“You can be honest with me. I wouldn’t dare to judge.”  
  
“Cause you’re an angel.” Campbell mumbled.  
  
“Because I’m a friend.” Aziraphale smiled.  
  
“Soppy.” Campbell smirked.  
  
“I suppose I am.”

Campbell’s smirk faded as he chewed on his thoughts. He looked nervous, his gaze away from the angel. He wrung his hands together as he raggedly sighed.  
“I mean, I like the rushes. I don’t want those gone.” Campbell said firmly.  
  
“Understandable.” Nodded Aziraphale.  
  
“But when I’m feeling…low? Those, I guess, well, it’d be nice to have less of that.” Campbell said with a casual shrug. “I mean, I handle it fine, but I know it distresses my mum. For her, might be good to get those under check.”  
Campbell looked back up at Aziraphale.  
“And, the hospital could help me with just those?”  
  
“That’s what they’re there for, dear boy.”  
  
“And they won’t lock me up forever?” asked Campbell warningly. “And donnae tell me what ya think I want to hear, because I…I just need to know. And if you need my word that I go back to Glasgow, then…fine. I promise to go back.”  
  
“Campbell, I wouldn’t force you to return if you really didn’t want to.” Aziraphale said softly. “But I can assure you that if you did return, and were sent to hospital, you will get to leave.”  
  
Campbell shuffled in his place; his arms crossed. He roughly rose and fell back against the sofa.  
  
“And I assure you that’s the truth. I wouldn’t lie to you.” Aziraphale said as he glanced at Campbell’s mug. “More cocoa?”

Campbell absently nodded as he thought. A snap of Aziraphale’s fingers and his cup was refiled.  
He picked up the mug and sipped, his eyes still away from Aziraphale’s oddly patient, understanding gaze.  
There was peppermint this time in the cocoa.  
Campbell’s face lit up once more as he licked foam from his lips.  
His gaze flitted up to meet Aziraphale’s, to compliment him, but he remembered the awaited response.  
He swallowed thickly.  
“If…If I just left, didn’t go back to Glasgow,” He started. “you wouldn’t be mad?”  
  
Aziraphale shook his head.  
“You need to do what makes sense to you, Campbell.” He said. “Even as an angel, I cannot stop you.”  
  
Campbell looked back at the cocoa.  
“And as a friend?”  
  
“I would pray that you be safe.”  
  
Campbell’s eyes, just for a moment, glistened. His lip wobbled.  
  
A handkerchief appeared in Aziraphale’s hand, and he offered it.  
  
“Sorry.” Campbell muttered.  
  
“Quite alright, dear boy.” Assured Aziraphale.  
  
Campbell sniffed and nodded.  
“Right, I’ll go home.” He said as he stood. “My folks must be worried sick.”  
  
“Ah, not now!” Aziraphale stood and patted Campbell’s arm. “That blizzard is still out there after all.”  
  
“No trains running. Right.”  
  
“I was more concerned about your health and safety, but yes, the trains are very likely cancelled too.” Aziraphale said.  
  
Campbell lowered himself down onto the sofa. He patted the cushions and looked up at Aziraphale meekly.  
“You don’t mind me crashing here?” He asked.  
  
Aziraphale sighed and smiled.  
“Campbell, you will always be welcome here. And I’d much prefer you sleep here than out in that ghastly weather.” He said as he miracled a fluffy pillow.

Campbell took the pillow with a nodded thanks and stuffed it under his head. He laid on the sofa, which seemed far comfier than it had just a moment ago. He pulled the blanket over himself, and a cocoon of cozy warmth was created.  
He slurped more cocoa and watched the flickering fire. Garland and twinkle lights glittered in its light.  
Distantly, far back in the shop, Campbell thought he could hear a record player spin Christmas carols.  
  
 _Have yourself a merry little Christmas_  
 _Let your heart be light_  
 _From now on our troubles will be out of sight_  
  
“Heh, Carpenters…” yawned Campbell. “figures you’d like the cheesy stuff.”  
  
“Now, now, Miss Carpenter had the loveliest voice. Quite different from the usual bebop singer.”  
  
“’Bebop’? Geez, you must be old…” said Campbell sleepily. “…if you think The Carpenters is ‘bebop’.”  
  
“Well, I am an angel.” said Aziraphale.

He received no further response. Campbell had fallen fast asleep, curled into the fluffy blanket. The half-drained cup of cocoa sat on the floor below his hand.

Aziraphale smiled warmly and went about gathering Campbell’s cup.  
The fire continued to crackle and burn brightly. Aziraphale did another small miracle to ensure it burnt at just the right temperature and wouldn’t set his beloved bookshop on fire (the concept was unthinkable).  
As he turned to walk upstairs, he paused.  
His gaze returned to Campbell, who slept peacefully.  
His lips thinned. He glanced upwards, towards Heaven.  
He’d been a bit frivolous with his miracles lately, but surely, they wouldn’t mind a slight adjustment to fate, fickle as fate was? Nothing too drastic, no promises of riches or fame.  
“ _All beings deserve to be loved._ ” Aziraphale thought and rationalized. “ _I’m just…assuring that he’s surrounded with people who care about him. Truly care and love him._ ”  
  
He snapped his fingers and the air shifted with the ethereal energy.  
  
Campbell made a small hum and turned over, his back to the fireplace.  
  
Aziraphale sighed in satisfaction before he flicked the lights off.


	2. Christmas Time, 2019

“Angel!” shouted Crowley. “Where do you want the garland to go?”

Aziraphale looked over his shoulder, away from the lights that he lined atop the bookshelves.  
“Oh, right over there! Atop the fireplace mantle!” He responded.

He tried and failed to hold back a chuckle as he watched Crowley struggle and teeter with a rather weighted and awkward box of decorations. It seemed his legs had forgotten that they were supposed to present as human as they flailed like overcooked spaghetti in an attempt to keep balance.

Crowley set the box down at the foot of the recently returned fireplace and stood to stretch.  
“Ugh, bloody hell Aziraphale, why do you have so many decorations? Do you even have the space to put them all up?” He groaned.

“Well, a few thousand years gives plenty of time to collect decorations.” Aziraphale said simply. “And you would be surprised how many baubles can fit on the tree!”

“Can’t wait to see myself.” Grumbled Crowley as he started lining the mantle with sparkly garland.

Aziraphale didn’t miss Crowley’s exasperation and he tutted affectionately. He slid down the ladder and popped over to the demon’s side.

He pressed a kiss to Crowley’s cheek, which turned the demon a rather festive red.

“Thank you for putting up with my festive side, dear.” He said.

Crowley’s lip had turned as squiggled as his snake form.  
“Erm, ah, no problem, angel.” He stuttered. “Anything for you. Especially if it means more of that.”

“That could be arranged.” Smirked Aziraphale as he returned to his decorating.

In the months after the Apocalypse-That-Just-Didn’t-Cut-It, and after their rather glorious showing up of their respective managements, Aziraphale and Crowley had taken the time to express the parts of their relationship that, previously, could only remain unsaid.

They both knew they’d fallen for the other (not literally, thank someone), but thousands of years of suppression takes a toll on one’s psyche.

For some, that might be frustrating, especially to watch. But it did come with the plus of every little act of affection, physical or otherwise, being a rollercoaster of joy and love for the two of them.

In good time, Aziraphale’s bookshelves glittered like the night sky themselves. Crowley had the mantle lined with garland and twinkled lights as he set up the nativity set.

He frowned at the pale complexion of the little Mary, Joseph, and Jesus.

“Thousands of years and they can’t get _that_ right.” He muttered as he snapped his fingers.

The little figurines, including those of the animals, changed to match what Crowley remembered seeing all those millennia ago, minus some of the less pretty details. Jesus had been born in a barn after all.

And if the little angel figurine resembled a certain bookkeeping angel, well that was just coincidental wasn’t it?

He shuffled over to the box and continued to pull out decorations and lights. He reached the festive tablecloths and napkins when he stopped.

He yanked out a large blanket.

“Really angel? Festive blankets too?” Crowley smirked as he looked over the blanket. “Good someone, it’s even _tartan_.”

“It’s the almighty’s son’s birthday! Surely as an angel, it’s expected I’d go all out with the décor – “Aziraphale started when he froze.

He eyed the green tartan blanket, and his expression seemed close to what people meant when they said someone had seen a ghost.

That expression was short-lived, however. It was soon replaced by a wistful look and a nostalgic light in the angel’s eyes.

“Oh dear, how was that in my boxes?” He said softly.

“Angel?”

“Ah, well, that explains where my fluffy blanket went. I must’ve forgotten to return his, oh bother.”

“Who – what? Aziraphale, whose blanket is this?” Crowley asked, puzzled.

Aziraphale descended the ladder and pulled at his waistcoat.  
“It was not too long ago. Probably twenty or so years ago. That blanket belonged to a runaway I found on my store’s front step.”

“Oh.” Crowley said as his sunglasses slipped to the tip of his nose. “ _Oh_ , oh angel, um – “

“He was okay.” Said Aziraphale quickly. “I brought him inside, got him warmed back up. Counseled him.”

“Ah. Well, good then.” Crowley said in relief.

Aziraphale smirked and chuckled.  
“It was the strangest thing, I must say. He looked quite a bit like you.”

“Erk, what? Really?” Crowley sputtered.

“Quite. It was uncanny.” Aziraphale laughed. “He was the nicest young man. Quite energetic, wanted to be a pop star.”

“As all the kids do.” Smirked Crowley. “What’d you counsel him on?”

Aziraphale’s face softened.  
“His parents…well, they wanted to send him to a mental ward.”

“ _What_? Why?” asked Crowley.

“He said something about ‘rushes’ and ‘lows’.”

Crowley’s mouth opened, then closed with a _pop_.  
“Ah.” He said. “So…bipolar then?”

“Crowley!” scolded Aziraphale.

“I was just asking!” defended Crowley. “Sounds a lot like that to me, but I didn’t meet the kid.”

Aziraphale sighed.  
“I’m not licensed to make that sort of judgement. I only know is he eventually agreed with me and returned to Glasgow. I saw him off at the train station.”

Crowley nodded. He saw the sadness in his angel’s eyes, and he took his hand between his.  
“Ever figure what happened to him?” He asked quietly.

Aziraphale sighed again.  
“No, I’m afraid not. Assignments from upstairs kept me busy, then that whole affair with the Antichrist happened and…well, I suppose I lost track of him, terrible as that sounds.”

“S’not terrible. We were a bit busy.” Said Crowley as he kissed his forehead.

“I still wonder what happened to him.” Said Aziraphale thoughtfully.

Crowley pulled him into an embrace.  
“What’s his name?” He asked.

“Campbell. Campbell Bain. Couldn’t have been older than seventeen when I met him.” Noted Aziraphale.

Crowley hummed and nodded. He gave Aziraphale a squeeze before he let go.

“Come on, plenty more decorating to do.” Aziraphale said as he returned to their job.

Crowley followed along distractedly.

At some point during their decorating, Aziraphale realized they’d run out of mulled wine. Crowley volunteered to pick more up at the shop, even though Aziraphale pointed out that he could just miracle up a few bottles.

“It’s what the humans do, right? You’re making us suffer through decorating by hand, I’ll run this errand myself too.” He teased.

“Oh, you.” Aziraphale tutted, but he let him go.

Crowley clambered into the Bentley after hopping through the thick blankets of snow. He kicked his boots clean of snow and slammed the door shut.

The Bentley roared to life, and the radio blared yet _another_ cover of “The 12 Days of Christmas” (once again, he’d been foiled by his own demonic influence. He was a demon; how was he supposed to anticipate that he’d one day celebrate Christmas and be just as annoyed as everyone else at how popular “The 12 Days of Christmas” was?)

The lack of Queen was an unexpected, but welcome, gift from Adam after he undid everything Apocalypse related. The Bentley’s radio was now fixed and could even pump radio broadcasts from across the world.

Thankfully for Crowley, he seemed to have caught the tail-end of the song. It petered to silence as the disk jockey piped up.

“Yes, you heard it, folks, that was “The 12 Days of Christmas” by The Jonas Brothers! Bless those American boys and congratulations on their version being the 32,000th cover of the song in history! And we’re playing them all this Christmas season!”

“Oh, good someone, please don’t.” grumbled Crowley.

“That is, unless you call in with those requests on The Campbell Bain Show! Here, being the bane of your existence, broadcasting live from Glasgow!”

Crowley nearly slammed on the breaks.

His sunglasses toppled from his face as he listened more closely.

“Ah, here we go! Coming in hot, we have a request from Annie. She’s gearing for “Last Christmas”, the Taylor Swift version! Well love, great apologies, but we only have the Wham version, and we hope it suffices!”

“No fucking way.” Said Crowley in a hushed voice.

It seemed way too convenient.

He glanced up at the ceiling before he shook his head.

No, she was _way_ too busy to interject like this.

Must’ve been fate.

  
The gears in Crowley’s head were turning as he turned off the road.

“ _Where did he say he was from? Glasgow?_ ” He thought as he glanced at his new watch. “ _Yeah, I could be there and back in a day._ ”

He shifted gears and the Bentley roared ahead.

  
\--

Admittedly, Aziraphale hadn’t run too many errands lately, but he was certain that the trip to the shop didn’t take nearly two days.

  
He worried and wondered if perhaps Hell, or worse, _Heaven_ , had changed their minds about leaving him and Crowley alone. Perhaps his beloved demon was captured, tied up somewhere unpleasant, praying for rescue.

But he could still sense Crowley’s energy on earth. So, Aziraphale tried to banish his more worrying thoughts.

But he was still curious as to what the demon could be up to.

His answer came that afternoon, as he put the finishing touches on the Christmas tree.

The front door slammed open.

“Ho ho ho, and a merry whatever to you!” called Crowley.

Aziraphale turned and stopped, stunned and slightly shocked at Crowley.

“Oh, my dear, I’m glad you’re okay…but what in heaven’s name _are you wearing_?” He asked.

Crowley, far from his usual black attire, was dressed in a fluffy, red suit with white fur trimming. Black boots, sans snake scales, covered his feet. A very itchy, fake-looking white beard covered his chin and he wore a stocking cap, red and white like the rest of his attire.

A large sack was slung over his shoulder, made of red velvet and tied off with golden cord.

“What? It’s festive! Like it?” asked Crowley as he posed.

“I must say it’s quite a change for you. You look good in white.” Aziraphale said admiringly.

“Oh, and can’t forget: got you a present.” Crowley said as he set the sack down gently.

“Oh Crowley, you shouldn’t have! That’s so sweet of you and – “started Aziraphale.

He paused and watched the sack.

“Crowley, why is it moving?” He asked with a look.

The sack, indeed, was moving. Quite energetically, in fact.

  
“Ah, right. That part. Well, remember how you were saying the other day that you hadn’t seen that kid – “

“Campbell.”

“Right. Well, I just happened to be around Glasgow and – “

“Crowley, open the sack.” Aziraphale frowned.

Crowley did just that.

From the sack first appeared a mop of slightly-less mousy brown hair. With it came a very confused, very upset, very much grown-up, face.

“What the bloody hell?!” squawked Campbell as he squinted at the light.

“Merry Xmas to you too.” Crowley said as he looked at Aziraphale. “You were right, by the way. Uncanny resemblance! Did a double-take when I first saw him.”

“Crowley, you know I love you so, _so much_ ,” said Aziraphale with a sharp inhale. “but what. The. _Hell_.”

Crowley blinked, then grinned.

“You just cursed!”

“That’s not the point right now!”

“Look, if ya want money, I’ll give it to you! But please don’t shank me, I’ve got a wife and kid!” Campbell said to Crowley.

“Wha – no! No, I’m not up for that shanking nonsense.” Crowley shook his head.

“T-Then…ransom? A kidnapping? I mean, I know I pissed off a right number of people over the years. Part of the job I suppose, but I donnae think I deserve to be stuffed in a bag and taken to lord knows where! We can be reasonable, can’t we?”

“Look kid, this isn’t a ransom, this isn’t a robbery. My friend here said he missed you and I brought you for a visit. Nothing more, nothing less.” Crowley said.

“Friend? Visit?” said Campbell, confused. He looked about wildly.

His eyes snapped on Aziraphale, and the fear vanished from his face.

  
For Aziraphale, he looked surprised, and very, very proud.

The surprise, aside from just this whole situation, mostly sourced from seeing Campbell so grown up. His hairstyle had obviously changed, no longer the floppy fringe that was in style back in the 90’s. His new look was choppy and piece-y but suited him nicely.

He sported a scruff of a beard, also a suitable addition.

But otherwise, Aziraphale knew this was unmistakably Campbell. The energy radiating off him was undoubtably _his_.

“Campbell?” Aziraphale still asked.

Campbell blinked again.

“You? A…Aziraphale?” He asked softly.

Aziraphale beamed.

“Indeed, dear boy. Good to see you again.” He said.

He glanced over to Crowley and gave him another look.

“Though, I wish the circumstances were slightly more…pleasant.”

Campbell broke out in a toothy grin.

“Lord, if I knew this was what this was all about, the sack’d be unnecessary!” He laughed. “How’ve you been? It’s been ages, good lord! Ach, and you haven’t aged a day! Guess that makes sense, angel and all.”

“I’ve been well. And you look like you’re doing wonderfully.” Aziraphale said as he helped Campbell up.

“Ah, well, aside from being trussed up like a Christmas goose, I’d say so!”

“Yes, my deepest apologies for that. I’ll ensure that my _partner_ apologizes as well.”

“Partner - ?” said Campbell as he followed Aziraphale’s gaze.

Crowley met his gaze as he rocked on his heels.

“Yeah, sorry about the kidnapping thing. Wasn’t sure if you’d come along willingly, and really this sounded more romantic in my head.” He grimaced.

“Oh, oh right, fair enough.” Campbell said dumbly as he looked again at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale shrugged apologetically.

“Is that…like an angel thing? I mean, he’s another angel, right? Heard bad things happen when angels and humans mix, but I mean I’m rusty on my bible. Oh…wait, shite, should I say that in front of an…two angels?”

“Ah, well,” Aziraphale sighed. “That’s a slight bit more complicated. Perhaps you should settle before we talk about _that_.”

He smiled and clapped a hand to Campbell’s shoulder.

“Besides, I want to hear about _your_ life first.”

The trio, despite the rocky beginning, settled into casual conversation over copious glasses of expensive and old wine.

Campbell told Aziraphale about how he did return to Glasgow and, as he expected, his parents took his attempted flight as a sign that his bipolar disorder had escalated.

He talked about his time at St. Jude’s, and his fateful period as co-DJ to one Eddie McKenna.

“After I was released, I got a position at a station and, well, the rest is history!” grinned Campbell as he chewed on a biscuit. “Sure, radio is on the downslide what with the internet and all that, but I’m not against innovation! Have to jump on-board, I say. So, I have a podcast too! Pretty popular around Scotland, starting to gain steam southward too.”

“That’s wonderful!” praised Aziraphale.

“But enough about me!” Campbell said as he leaned against the couch. “Surely plenty’s been happening with you, angel and all.”

“I’d say so.” Aziraphale laughed.

“You might want a refill, kid.” Crowley noted as he poured more wine.

And that launched Aziraphale onto an initially lengthy (until Crowley’s intervention) retelling of all the events from the last twenty years. From the delivery of the Antichrist to the aversion of the Apocalypse, to the current, mutual agreement from both Heaven and Hell to bugger off and leave them in peace.

All was retold like a pleasant, if not restful, holiday, and not the world-shaking and rather crucial series of events it was.

Campbell, for his part, soon stopped sipping his wine. He listened with bugged expression until Aziraphale finally sighed and sat tucked against Crowley’s side.

“I suppose that’s it. Nowadays things are far less chaotic.” Aziraphale said. “We have meals out and we’ve had a holiday or two. No word from Heaven or Hell either since.”

“As of yet.” Added Crowley with a frown.

“Right.” Nodded Campbell.

“You good, kid?” asked Crowley with a quirked eyebrow.

“S-Sure. Just…wow, lot to take in.” Campbell said with a deep gulp of wine. “Bit confused that, you know, all that end of the world stuff, and only a few months ago? All a bit foggy when I try to remember.”

“Suppose it’s for the best. All quite a bit to think about.” Aziraphale said.

“Suppose so.” Agreed Campbell.

The chime of a mobile rang out.

  
Campbell’s eyes widened.

“Oh shit!” He uttered as he scrambled for his phone.

Aziraphale and Crowley watched, expressions strained, as Campbell grimaced and winced at the no doubt dozens of text messages filling the screen.

“Ach, I was worried about this.”

“Is everything alright, Campbell?” asked Aziraphale.

Campbell’s lips thinned as he turned the screen towards the two.

“My wife. She’s panicking, wondering where I am.”

“Makes sense. You’ve been gone, what, at least a day?” noted Crowley.

“And I do wonder why _that_ is.” Said Aziraphale pointedly.

“I said I was sorry, didn’t I?” Crowley defended.

Campbell set his glass aside and stood.

“I should get going. The trains are still running, right? It’ll still take me hours to get home, oh god she’ll be upset. And my poor darling Posey, she must be worried about me.” He worried.

“We’ll get you home. Tonight.” Said Aziraphale as he, too, stood.

“How can you promise – oh right, angel.” Campbell said sheepishly. “Keep forgetting that.”

Aziraphale approached and smiled warmly.

“Regardless, it was wonderful to see you again. I do hope you’ll visit us again soon.” He said.

Campbell smiled.

“Or you could visit us? Bet my daughter would love you both, she’s a chip off the old block, for better or worse. Little fireball she is, just like her mum. Bless them both, I love them.”

“I can sense that.” Aziraphale beamed. “And we’d love to visit, wouldn’t we, Crowley?”

“Course.” Crowley smiled sincerely. “He is your charge, after all.”

Aziraphale smiled at him thankfully.

“It was great to see you too, Aziraphale.” Said Campbell. “And…don’t think I said it back then. Bit of a young punk and all with a head half in the clouds. But thank you. Thanks for keeping me alive.”

“Dear boy, seeing you grown, and thriving is thanks enough.” Aziraphale said. “I’ll see you soon.”

And with a snap of Aziraphale’s fingers, Campbell was gone. (He’d blink and find himself in his living room. The furnace kept the home warm, his dog yapped and pranced after him happily. Little Posey ran around the corner and dropped her Barbie as she hugged her dad. And as the Christmas lights twinkled on the tree, he truly thanked the Almighty for this wonderful life of his.)

Alone once more, Crowley slunk up to Aziraphale and wrapped his arms around his chest.

“Sorry again, angel. I meant it, it sounded better in my head.” He mumbled into his shoulder.

Aziraphale took his hand and spun around.

“Quite alright, dear. Your heart was in the right place.” He said. “And it was wonderful to see Campbell again.”

“Seems a nice kid.”

“He really is.”

Crowley leaned in and pecked Aziraphale on the lips.

“Merry Christmas, angel.”

Aziraphale returned with his own kiss.

“Merry Christmas, Crowley.”


End file.
